


The Road to Hell

by shouldgowork



Category: Warcraft (2016)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 19:57:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7401754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shouldgowork/pseuds/shouldgowork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last time the Guardian was in Stormwind, six years earlier, it was the eve of a new year. </p>
<p>As old friends gather to celebrate, decisions are made and events are set in motion that will change their lives and their world forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road to Hell

Conversation and laughter echoed off the marble lining the audience chamber of Stormwind. A deafening patchwork of wishes of good health for the coming year, carefully measured thanks for gifts received, and the calculatedly casual rejections of these as trinkets, mere tokens, by their givers. Gifts that were not just gifts, in a party which was much more than the celebration of another year of peace.

Lothar shadowed the royal couple, taking this all in, watching with bemusement as richly dressed, soft men circled one another, coming in not for a kill but for a handshake and small talk, a contest of gestures and conversational power plays he had no time for. As he watched Taria and Llane circulate, taking part in and arbitrating dozens of these small contests, he was glad, as ever, that this lot fell to them, and not to him. This particular reception had gone on for what felt like, and probably was, several hours, and there was still a dinner to come later, and by the time the bell, announcing the start of the two hour ‘changing and refreshment’ break between the party and the dinner, rang, Lothar could have kissed the ground. The three of them virtually heaved a sigh of relief as they shut the door to the small library adjacent to the audience hall, sinking into ornate but comfortable chairs, silently regaining the will to live as Adariall fell asleep and Callan picked up a book.

Medivh, disguised as a raven and hidden by the gloomy lighting of the room he had known they would eventually come to, perched on a bookcase and watched the group of people dearest to him in all of Azeroth. Not just a group, a family. Not for the first time he was struck by the unlikeliness of it all. What was the chance that Lothar and Llane – and himself for that matter – would meet? That they would become such firm friends? That Llane and Lothar’s sister would be so perfectly suited? Chance could be such a kind and beautiful thing. From time to time.

He sometimes fancied, when he saw them grouped like this, that he could almost see it; a golden string looping gently between them all, bathing them in a gentle light. Other times he wondered if he was just going mad; after all, as far as he was aware, and he was the Guardian after all, there was no such magic in the world. He watched from his dark corner with an ache as much of jealousy as of love, and guilt drove him to drop from his hiding place, landing in front of Lothar in human form.

‘Your security measures are _terrible_. I actually managed to steal a guard’s hat off his head on the way in.’ He said cheerily, forcing down his more morbid thoughts, and setting the blue velvet on top of Lothar’s outraged head with a showman-like flourish.

‘Well I don’t think he had any reason to take precautions against the Guardian, or any mage, for that matter, did he? Or would you have us hang a giant net over the whole city to keep you out?’ Llane said with a laugh, echoed by Taria even as she punched him lightly in the arm for his trick.

‘Keep me out? You wound me by the mere suggestion.’ He said, drawing his cape to his eyes melodramatically. ‘Here I am, making a surprise visit, when-‘

‘A surprise visit? You’re six hours late for the festivities!’ Lothar grizzled.

It took Medivh a couple of seconds to realise that it was indeed the evening before the New Year began, a time he always spent at Stormwind. He supposed he must have forgotten, but if that was the case, why had he come here today?

‘I- I guess I am. What of it?’ He replied, laughing nonchalantly.  

‘Well it’s no matter. You’re here now, and no doubt you’ve brought us all excellent presents.’

‘Is the safety of your kingdom not present enough, Taria?’ He asked, as Lothar loudly and pointedly cleared his throat.

‘It is if you’ll share that honour with Lothar without complaining, I’ve had enough of brokering compromises for the evening.’ Llane said, slightly muffled by the hand he currently held to his temples.

As he embraced his friends in turn Medivh caught sight of the boy over their shoulders, seated a little out of the way, stealing glances at them guiltily as if he were intruding on a scene he didn’t belong to. His attitude was hardly surprising considering the disinterested, if not actually hostile, way his father seemed compelled to treat him. As he watched the little outsider he couldn’t help but feel an almost physical stab of pity which, perhaps, was inevitable for someone who had been offered to the Kirin Tor by his own family, like a harvest surplus or a spare pair of shoes. He studied the boy for a moment longer, biting back a comment on his resemblance, always strong but lately increased, to his mother. He couldn’t and wouldn’t justify Lothar’s treatment of his son, but he could partly understand the pain the sight of him induced.

‘Hello, Callan.’

The boy looked momentarily startled, before smiling back somewhat shyly.

‘Hello Guardian.’

‘Aren’t you getting big!’

‘Well, they will generally do that, if you stay away for six months and they turn twelve in the meantime.’ Lothar piped up sarcastically.

Surely not six months. He never stayed away that long, even if state affairs kept the royal couple out of the city and he could only visit Lothar. Two months, perhaps, or three, but not… or had it been? He could think of no pressing matters of late that would have kept him away for so long but it was clearly true; he had last visited in high summer and his journey here today had been over a glittering carpet of white.

‘Not just big, then, but old.’ He went on. Callan smiled proudly; the others tried not to notice that his father looked not so much proud as troubled. ‘ _So_ old that for once you haven’t asked me to do a magic trick the moment I arrived.’ He said, making sapphires rain from the ceiling and melt on the floor. The boy stared at them with wonder but with a new, adult restraint and Medivh felt an inexplicable pang of regret, until Adariall, having woken up, toddled across the floor with a shriek of delight and stood underneath, trying to catch them in her hands.

As they watched her play, the four old friends briefly swapped news of the last few months, though Medivh had very little to say and the rest not much of interest; disease had ravaged some villages to the south and Ironforge was attempting yet again to increase the price of the armour it made for Stormwind’s garrisons.

‘It is so strange.’

‘What is strange, Medivh?’

He was not sure how to express this feeling other than as detachment. At the top of the tower of Karazhan, he might as well be a world away from reality, from its families and its plagues, and they sounded almost unreal to him, in a way they never had before.

‘Just the petty squabbles of the alliance.’ He replied.

‘I promise you, they don’t feel so petty when you’re in the negotiations.’ Llane said soberly.

‘I don’t know how you both don’t lose your tempers with all of their roundabout talking and lies.’ Lothar added.

‘You can never see how _anyone_ doesn’t lose their temper, my sweet, good-natured brother.’ Taria said, ducking the cushion that came flying her way.

‘She’s right, Lothar, Light preserve us if the role ever fell to you.’ Medivh agreed with mock-solemnity, ducking the second cushion.

‘What are you reading?’ Medivh asked, turning his attentions to the boy once more. He slid the volume, which turned out to be a classic work of military tactics, across the table and looked anxiously at the mage as if waiting for approval.

‘Interesting choice.’

‘I’ve read it before, a few times. And most of the books on that shelf.’ He continued animatedly, not noticing his father’s attention on him fully, though he’d been waiting for it for years. Taria watched her brother carefully, registering the hurt and surprise that the boy hadn’t come to him but to the library to learn about such things, and, beyond that, indignation. Indignation, she supposed unhappily, that the boy had the gall to be like him, to show such obvious proof of being his son. Not for the first time, she wished sincerely that her brother was more easily reasoned with.

‘Maybe you should follow in your father’s footsteps. You’re nearly at the age to begin training, and you’ve clearly got size and strength enough for it.’ Medivh continued, seizing the opportunity that fate had evidently provided, and the inspired idea that suddenly came into his mind; to throw father and son together, and to give them a common cause. If that couldn’t remedy Lothar’s misplaced anger, nothing could.

Just as he’d hoped, a light flickered on in Callan’s eyes. Lothar cursed under his breath, about to argue, when a clock struck in the distance and Taria bustled towards the children purposefully.

‘Come on now, you two, bed time.’

Adariall whined a little as Taria called an attendant in to take them up, but Callan merely nodded and picked the book up to take with him to his room, his face already set with determination, which made him look more like Lothar than he had ever done before. He kissed his aunt and uncle on the cheek on his way out of the room as his cousin did.

‘Goodnight father.’ He mumbled, an afterthought, from the other side of the closing door. Lothar opened and shut his mouth noiselessly before turning on the mage.

‘Why did you do that?’

‘Do what?’ Medivh replied innocently.

‘You know damn well what. Pushing him towards… that. He has many other opportunities.’ He said too loudly. ‘ _Opportunities that don’t involve training with me for five years.’_ He thought, but kept in.

‘And yet you insisted on joining up yourself, brother, though father had high hopes for these arms at the forge. The men in this family are very stubborn.’ Taria said, grasping his shoulder gently but firmly.

‘The _men_?’ Llane said, and the tension broke with laughter. ‘Come on, Lothar.’ He continued, ‘You know you can’t stop him. He’s already got that look.’

‘What look?’ Lothar replied, scowling.

‘That’s the one, right there.’ Llane said, pointing at Lothar’s face and smirking. ‘Besides, why not let him? The alliance is difficult, and its members petty, but you can’t deny that it is effective, and our squabbles, little or otherwise, can be settled in the conference chamber. We’re not going to war any time soon. It would be hardly any less safe than many of the other jobs he could consider. Medivh was right to suggest it.’

Lothar, to his annoyance, couldn’t really argue with Llane’s logic, but remained standing, his arms crossed, glaring at the others, silently daring them to an argument.

‘You can’t hold his interest against him. Besides, it might be just what the two of you need. I know it’s been difficult for you. Maybe we should all have a _long, serious_ _talk_ -‘ Taria began, drawing out the last few words.

‘Another time.’ Lothar replied hastily, reaching for the wine jug, as Llane mouthed sincere thanks at his wife. ‘And certainly not on this night of all nights, when there’s a good excuse to drink and be silly, until dinner at least.’

With the children gone and arguments over, the four of them quickly fell back into a favourite pastime, dwelling on past glories and misadventures, the talk growing louder and the anecdotes more questionable as the wine flowed.

‘Medivh, do you remember that time we stole those sheep and we-‘ Lothar had begun animatedly, as a knock at the door cut him short.

‘My lord’s, lady, I’m sorry to interrupt you but a disagreement has broken out between some members of the deputations from Ironforge and Darnassus. Both seem to think the other have been given preferential treatment in the designation of rooms.’ A page apologised, poking his head around the door.

‘As we were discussing earlier, I suppose we should be grateful that this is the worst we have to suffer from our allies these days. We’ll see you in the banqueting hall.’ Llane said as he helped his wife up. Smoothing sumptuous clothes and stray hair, looking more dignified than the protagonists of the last few anecdotes had any right to look, they left the other two in silence.

Medivh flicked through the nearest volume with pointed disinterest, waiting for Lothar to crack.

‘You’ve been very busy lately.’ He said after a few minutes.

‘I’ve missed you too.’ Medivh replied, enjoying the pained look of defeat on the other man’s face for a moment, before a shadow of guilt crept back into his mind; he had not even realised the length of his absence, let alone felt any sadness at it.

Lothar reached forward and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘Seriously, Medivh, what have you been doing, shut up alone in Karazhan for so long?’

He turned his gaze upwards and saw unaccustomed concern on the Commander’s face. He felt only anger. Who was this soldier to question him on his craft? What was he implying, anyway, saying something like that? Was _this_ man, whose own son was a stranger, lecturing _him_ on isolation?

As quickly as his anger arrived it turned to horror at his own viciousness. After the festive period he would clearly have to go back to Karazhan and examine both it and his recent...confusions, and he wondered momentarily if he should tell Lothar.

‘ _No. No point in worrying him or the others. Especially not at this time of year. It will turn out to be nothing other than me being foolish and over tired. And lonely.’_ He decided.

 ‘Honestly Lothar, being Guardian does _actually_ take quite a lot of time. Azeroth is quite big after all.’ He replied, as lightly as possible. ’And besides,’ he continued, struggling momentarily to remember what had been going on recently, ‘the new Guardian Novitiate has proven to be a bit of a handful.’

‘A _handful_? He’s only twelve!’

‘I don’t think I need to remind you of yourself at that age.’

The other man laughed and clapped him on the back, tension dissipated one more. It was undeniably tempting to resume their trip to memories of happier, more carefree, times, to dwell on escapades even Llane and Taria might judge them for, but Medivh couldn’t let the subject of Callan lie, not when there was a chance to end this terrible rift.

‘I’m sorry if you think I’m meddling about Callan. But it would be good for him. For both of you. And he is clearly passionate about it.’

He was met with silence.

‘After all the times I’ve gotten you out of trouble, don’t you trust my judgement any longer?’

‘If he’s really set on it, I won’t stand in his way. But I won’t give him a place without merit either.’ Lothar said by way of answering Medivh’s question. A pause, until a conciliatory grin spread across the Commander’s face. ‘Besides, the sheep thing was _your_ idea.’

As Medivh opened his mouth to protest (quite groundlessly), the gong sounded in the hall and they hurriedly drained the dregs of their glasses, toasting the arrival of the New Year, and went to join the others.


End file.
